Patiently Waiting
by crazycat1895
Summary: John had thought about a dog for a long time, to be truth since years. He had always seen himself with a bulldog, but now this little mongrel sat in front of him and stared at him. But in one flat with Sherlock? Can you expect that to a dog? No, not really.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: John had thought about a dog for a long time, to tell the truth, for years. He had always seen himself with a bulldog, but now this little mongrel sat in front of him and stared at him. But in one flat with Sherlock? Can you expect that to a dog? No, not really.

A/N: This is my first try, English is not my first language and I`ve got no Beta, so all mistakes are mine.

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**Patiently Waiting**

John had thought about a dog for a long time, to tell the truth, for years. He had always seen himself with a bulldog, but now this little mongrel sat in front of him and stared at him. Yes, it really stared, hadn't moved since at least 5 minutes.

He was sitting on a bench in Regents Park. His mad flatmate had tried to blow their flat, again! It seemed, he had blown up the kitchen this time, wrecked it almost. And then he had mocked about Johns shouting. John had been steaming, so he took his coat and went out because he needed some air. After running through London for several hours, he finally had ended up here, in the Park, and he had no urge to go home.

He was upset, but not angry anymore, and a bit tired. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't move out yet, but there was something special, a connection between Sherlock and him. And he enjoyed solving cases with Sherlock, the thrill, the danger, and Sherlock's genius when he was on fire.

John couldn't help, he grinned and decided to go home when he saw it - him? - sitting in front of the bench and staring at him, still. He'd been so deep in his thoughts before, he hadn't noticed him earlier.

It was a shaggy mongrel and he looked like he'd been living on the street for more than just a few days. He definitely needed a bath and a brush and of course he would be hungry, but that wasn't his problem, right? John stared back at the dog. It was cute, black (probably under the dirt), with huge intelligent brown eyes. John would like to have a dog, yes, but in one flat with Sherlock? Can you expect that to a dog? No, not really.

When John stood up and headed to Baker Street the dog moved for the first time. He watched John carefully, and after a few seconds he followed him, strolling just a few steps behind him, stopping when John stopped, moving on when he did. At 221b John looked at him. No, he couldn't take this weird dog upstairs. He would go away after a while, sure he would.

But the dog didn't go away, he merely lay down at the entrance, waiting patiently.

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John entered the flat and wondered if he should go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and clean up Sherlock's mess, when he heard Sherlock rumbling there, so he decided to work at his blog. Surprisingly his laptop was untouched at the table in the sitting-room, for the next two or three hours he concentrated on writing down their last case. Sherlock had disappeared into his room at some point, offended, because John persistently ignored him.

Then he stretched his stiff body and thought he really would love a cup of tea now. On the way to the kitchen, he glanced out the window and stopped immediately. This weird dog was still sitting on the pavement and looked up to him, motionless, just staring like he did before.

John stood at the window, thinking about what he should do? He heard the violin from Sherlock's room, so he could wait. He decided to fetch the dog, and went to the fridge to look if he could find something to feed him.

At the doorway he flinched back. The kitchen was cleaned up and Sherlock's experiment was gone, also was the microwave. O.k., so that was that terrible slam in the morning. Did Sherlock really clean up the kitchen? What a crazy day! What was he up to? There must be something. John smirked, he would find it out sooner or later. His anger had faded.

In the fridge there were only some human entrails and a piece of cheese, even the milk was nearly empty again. So the cheese has to do.

The doctor went down the stairs and opened the door. There he was, patiently waiting, looking at him as if he knew he was at home now. The dog watched him close and without a hesitation he took the cheese, came into the house and followed him upstairs, as if he had always belonged there. John felt that this dog was a perfect fit for them.

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Meanwhile, Sherlock was on the couch, still pouting. When John entered the sitting-room with the dog his eyebrows raised curiously. "What is that?"

"A dog." John replied drily, and pushed the dog into the bathroom. Before he could close the door Sherlock appeared in the door frame.

"What. I_s. _That?" He was furious. "We don't need some flea-bitten mongrel trashing my experiments!" John looked bemused at him. "Why are you so angry? He followed me from the Park and waited for hours at our doorstep. There's something about him...I don't know...I like him." Sherlock was stunned, a rare phenomenon that could cause only John. He turned on his heels, grabbed his coat and stormed out of the flat.

Now it was John's turn to be stunned. What the hell was that? He looked at the dog and at the door. No, first the bath for the dog who was filthy and stunk. He lifted the dog into the tub and soaked him gently with warm water.

After bathing and drying the dog John placed a blanket in front of the fireplace, where he could lay down. He needed a name for the dog and thought about it while he made some tea. Gladstone, like that statesman he had just read a book about, that sounded quite right. "Gladstone?" he tried. The dog raised his head. "O.k. so we got you a name. Tomorrow I´ll get you some things a dog need and of course good dog food." That seemed to be all right for Gladstone and he laid down his head and slept immediately.

John felt a little bit guilty because of Sherlock. Something was wrong with him, he had totally overreacted with Gladstone ... and he had cleaned up. Thinking about this he nearly jumped when Sherlock came back. "Hi, Sherlock." No reply. "Tea?" He stood up. Sherlock nodded and sat down in his chair. A few minutes later John came back with two cups, put Sherlock´s on the little table next to his chair and sat down with his own.

"So, can we talk now?" he started. Sherlock took a sip of his tea and stared at the fire, or at Gladstone? John was not quite sure.

"Look, I don't know why you behave so ... (mad? ... insane? ...) strange today, but I'm very grateful that you've cleaned up the kitchen. It's just ... you never clean up, so it was ... unexpectedly. And I really would like to know what you think about Gladstone." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Gladstone? You gave him a name, you want to keep him." His face was blank and John had an odd feeling of uncertainty. He gave Sherlock a sheepish smile. "Oh yes, I wanted a dog for a long time. And now that I have found a real home, the timing seems to be right. And Gladstone seems to be the right one. He´s patient, calm, friendly, unobtrusive, he won't disturb you in your concentration. I think it's a pretty good idea, we're often out and about so we can take him with us and don't have to worry about leaving him alone. And I bet we could bribe Mrs. Hudson into dog-sitting for a few hours if it's necessary. And look at these wonderful brown eyes, he trusts me. And he likes you, too, I'm sure."

The words have a strange effect on Sherlock. A real home he has also found for the first time at 221b with John. Sherlock looked sideways at John, taking in his facial expression. He had become more and more enthusiastic and was beaming now.

"You're rather taken with this dog." A faint smile spread about Sherlock's face.

John lifted his head and turned his face to him. "Why were you so upset about him?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "As a child I had an unpleasant encounter with a black dog. When I saw Gladstone..." "It was a bit of a déjà vu?" John suspected.

"Yeah, bit not good." Sherlock agreed with a weak smile, but he didn't want to talk about it now, it was ridiculous.

"So you are o.k. with him?" John persisted. "I'll bring him to the vet tomorrow to have him checked and vaccinated. Then I'll buy a brush, a basket and what else we'll need."

"Fine" Sherlock replied. "I go to sleep; tomorrow will be a busy day." With that he escaped to his room.

John wondered what he could mean, was he going to go shopping with him? Not if he could prevent that. The last time Sherlock went shopping ended at a police station, and John was quiet happy that Greg helped him to get Sherlock out of there without more damage. He gave Gladstone a last stroke and a good night and then he went to his bedroom.

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The next morning John woke up early. He was excited and happy and after a quick shower he headed to the sitting room. It was empty. No Gladstone. He called him, nothing. Then he called Sherlock, no reply. He ran down the stairs to look if Mrs. Hudson had seen one of them, but she wasn't at home either. What had Sherlock done to Gladstone? He tried to get him on his mobile, but it was switched off. John sat down in his chair and buried his head in his hands. It was enough to drive him mad.

What had Sherlock done this time? Couldn't he behave normal only for once?

His phone beeped.

-Angelo's, 2 p.m., SH-

-Where are you? Is Gladstone with you? JW-

-Took him for a walk. SH-

John sighed in relief, that sounded not so bad. Probably they'll get friends.

At 2 p.m. he entered Angelo's and wondered if Sherlock was there yet, because their usual table at the window was empty. He looked around and wanted to sit down when Angelo himself came. "John! So good to see you! Come over here!" And with this he led him behind a partition that John hadn't noticed until now.

John's gaze glanced over the scene that presented itself to him, he was stunned and bewildered. Friends and family sat there, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Molly, Harry (with an unknown girlfriend), Mike, Mary (he met her a few weeks ago at the Tesco), even Mycroft and of course Sherlock, with Gladstone in his lap, a large red ribbon worn around the neck. They grinned at him and welcomed him with a loud "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHN!"

Was it possible that he had forgotten his own birthday? But his best friend Sherlock hasn't. A wide genuinely smile spread over his face and he could see the same at his friends face when he sat down next to him and stroke Gladstone's velvet ears.


End file.
